


Fit your audience

by LeDiz



Category: Animaniacs, Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988)
Genre: Gen, Unfinished
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 15:51:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7647247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeDiz/pseuds/LeDiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eddie might have gone straight and stopped avoiding the Toons, but nothing could have prepared him for this newest job from The Warner Brothers - tracking down the Warner Bros, and their sister Dot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fit your audience

There was a weird feeling on the studio lot when Eddie walked through. It didn’t exactly soothe his high nerves.

He almost hadn’t come. The bird on the phone had sounded stressed, and simply said ‘the Brothers wish to speak with you’. He’d only agreed because looney as their jobs were, they paid better than Maroon’s, and weren’t as sickly sweet as Disney. And while he was clean and finally getting regular work again, most of his job offers were from Toons wanting him to find their marbles. Studio heads were better. He wanted to stay on the good foot with WB.

Things got worse as he entered the executive office, where he found himself surrounded by people with clipboards, having arguments, and barking at dames to get on the phone. He found the executive assistant he usually spoke to, and she gave him a frazzled look.

“Oh, Mr Valiant. Of course. Yes, the Brothers will want to see you,” she said, and hurried him into the main office.

The Brothers, side by side and identical, were signing a pile of papers higher than the Hollywood Hills, and scowled at him as he entered. “Mr Valiant. Thank you for coming.”

“Seems like it’s more of a problem for you than me,” he noted as he sat down opposite them. “Something rotten in Burbank?”

“Only in the Tower,” they replied, and despite himself, Eddie shot an instinctive glance out the window, to where the iconic water tower was just visible. They frowned. “It needs cleaning.”

“Sorry to hear that,” he said. “I know a couple boys if you’re lookin’ for hands.”

“The cleaning is the least of our problems. It’s what we do with what’s inside if that’s the problem.”

He cocked his head, intrigued. Anyone who worked with Toons knew there was something about the Tower that WB didn’t want people to know, but getting anyone to talk about it was like getting to the moon. Impossible for anyone that wasn’t drawn that way.

“Worried about floodin’ the backlot, Boys?” he asked anyway.

“That’s very cute, Mr Valiant. Have you ever heard of the Warner Bros.?”

He blinked. The Brothers were human, but like a lot of good animation studio heads, they could talk the Toon Talk. Their lips had said ‘Warner Brothers’, but he’d heard ‘Warner Bros.’, with a period on the end. Or, he realised after a beat, a dot.

It was a weird distinction.

“You mean aside from you?”

“About fifteen years ago, we tried to make a new series of shorts. Answer to one of Disney’s Merrie Melodies,” they explained. “It flopped, so we created a trio of supporting characters – the Warner Brothers and Sister. They were worse. The series was discontinued, but the Warners remain.”

He frowned, not seeing where this could be going.

“They make no sense, and worst of all, they’re completely mad.”

“Like the duck?”

Their frown got stronger. “No, Daffy is Looney. The Warners are mad. Zany. Uncontrollable. We locked them in the water tower.”

“You what?” He looked at the tower again. Locking up a toon—really locking them up, like they were implying, was almost worse than a dipping. It wasn’t strictly illegal, especially not if they hadn’t worked enough to buy themselves from the studio, but it was pretty damn harsh.

 It was, however, one of the few known ways to destroy a toon. If you locked them up for an extended period, natural toon instincts took over and they would comically age. Grey hair first, then beards, then bones. Leave them like that for long enough, and they’d forget it was a joke.

It was cruel. But it was legal.

But… fifteen years? “You’re talkin’ about them in the present tense. You’re sayin’ these Warner Toons’re still kicking?”

“Yes. We’re not sure how, but they are. They haven’t been able to escape the Water Tower, though – it wouldn’t be funny. So they stay out of sight and out of mind except every few years, when the tower needs work. When the war ended, it was termites. This year, it’s cleaning,” they said, and levelled him with a look. “Tomorrow, to be precise.”

“Hold on here,” he said, holding out a hand. “I don’t know what you’ve heard. I may take toon jobs, but I’m no baby sitter. You need someone to wrangle a toon, you get a director.”

“That’s not what we’re asking you to do. It would be an impossible task for a human to ‘wrangle’ the Warners,” they said blankly. “Your task is simply to find them when we tell you, and tell them it’s time to come back.”

 

* * *

 

Curiosity got the better of him, and Eddie was back on the Burbank lot tomorrow at eight. There was a crowd of toons clustered around the water tower, along with what looked like a hundred human lawyers and a team of cleaners. But unlike the humans, the toons were all doing their absolute best to look uninterested – like they had no idea what was going on and wouldn’t care if they did.

“Okay, boss!” one of the cleaners yelled down. “We’re ready whenever you are!”

The head lawyer looked like he’d rather eat his suit, but he nodded once. “Open her up!”

The assembled toons became immediately focussed on something just past the tower, as if they weren’t watching the shield slowly come open like a massive door.

For a moment, nothing. Then…

“Hello…” a tiny black head poked out of the tower.

“Hello…!” another came out, matching tune perfectly. This one wore a red hat of some kind.

“Hello!” and a third, this one sounding female… but no fourth joined in to complete the barbershop quartet. They simply finished the long note, then three black and white figures—their only colour the red of their noses and the second one’s hat—bounced past the cleaner and onto the railing of the water tower, arms spread like they were putting on a show.

The tallest one bounced like a spring before theatrically lifting one had to cover its eyes and peer out at the crowd. “Wow, things got busy these last seven years. And would you look at the colour on these folks!”

“And here I thought toons still went black-tie,” the shortest and probably female one noted, twisting a foot and putting a finger to its mouth in some caricature of cuteness. “Now I feel over-dressed.”

“But you’re only wearing clothes on the underside,” the third one said. Unlike the others, it had a strange English accent.

“Aw, don’t worry, sibs,” the tall one said, “Who cares what you wear whether up top or down there? We’re free, don’t you see, for a whole day to be the wild, whack and zany Warners three!”

Eddie furrowed his brow, recognising the start of a song despite the fact the toon wasn’t singing yet. They bounced down out of sight, but he still heard it – the sound of the head lawyer rhyming in beat. A human. _Lawyer_. Joining a song.

“Hello, Warner Bro, I’m a lawyer, don’t you know. You’re free so that we can wash, clean and maybe air out some nasty smells, Warners three,” he said. “Today, have your way, but you beware; this I’ll say: you’re free long as we know what you do and see nothing we don’t like, Warners three.”

“I see,” the tall one said, before picking up tempo. “So no running?”

“No jumping?” the girl asked.

“No silly cartoon bumping,” the hat added.

“As if that was really fun at all,” they all sang—properly—before leaping up onto what had to be some lawyers’ shoulders, each standing on one leg, the tall one facing his two siblings as they grinned at each other.

“We could go see Bugs the Bunny,” the girl suggested brightly.

“I do suppose that could be funny,” said the hat.

“And Mister Lawyer would agree that we should prob’ly only see other toons like you and me,” tall one sang. Kid could sure move that mouth. “But consider this, siblings mine, don’t you think it would be fine if we could run and dance all day with someone with a bit of flavour, say a kid like Lizzie Taylor?”

“No you won’t!” The lawyers all shouted, in amazing chorus, while the other two leapt up in a cheer.

“Yes we will, yes we will! Truly that will fit the bill!”

And then they zoomed off as only toons could, still singing a song he could no longer clearly hear the lyrics of. He stared after them for a few seconds, then shook his head with a sigh. “Toons.”

 

* * *

 

It had been a weird day.

Eddie had tried to stay out of it. His job wasn’t likely to start until late night, maybe even early morning, and until then, he just had to stay where people could find him. But every toon in town was on edge, and half the Hollywood types were, too. When he’d gone down to the Club, he’d half expected it to be closed, with how its standard staff and clientel were acting.

But no, it was still open and running, though the staff were all high strung and talking too much.

“It’s like this every time the Warners get out,” Betty told him, rolling her eyes. “Humans never notice, though.”

“You know those kids?”

“Who me?” She smiled coyly. “I’d never. Anyone who knows anything knows you don’t know the Warner kids.”

Which was just weird enough for him to give her the eye, but not keep talking as the familiar sounds of Jessica’s number began playing. No one ever talked much during her performances, which would make their conversation stick out, and draw attention to Betty not working the floor. Eddie didn’t like to see his girls get in trouble, especially not on account of him.

Jessica started same as she always did, with one leg knocking the curtain aside. “You had plenty money, nineteen twenty-two. You let other women make a fool of you. Why don’t you do right? Like some other men do.”

“Get outta here,” a new, male voice cut in, and Eddie joined everyone else in jerking around to see a short toon in an expensive but oversized suit and fedora—they sparkled like her dress, Eddie noted absently—leaning against the stage pillar. “I’ll get some money f’you.”

To her credit, Jessica only paused long enough for the beat to swing around before flicking her hair like it was part of the normal act. “Get out of here. Get me some money, fool.”

The stranger grinned under his fedora and pushed off the pillar, sliding across the floor like it was covered in oil. “You’re sitting there and wonderin’ what it’s all about. We ain’t got no money, so you put me out. Why don’t you do right? Like some other gals do?”

“Get outta here,” she sang back, prowling across the stage so she could walk around him, hand trailing across his shoulders and making the grin turn lecherous. “Get me some money, fool.”

“Get outta here,” he replied. “I’ll get the money f’you.”

“If you had prepared twenty years ago, you wouldn’t be wanderin’ now from door to door. Why don’t you do right? Like some other men do?”

“I fell for your jivin’ and I let you in,” the stranger sang, lifting her hand with sleek charm despite the fact he was perhaps half her height. “Now you ain’t even offerin’ me a drink of gin. Why don’t you do right? Like some other gals do?”

“Get outta here,” she sang, flicking his hand away, “Get me some money, fool.”

“Get outta here,” He tried to snatch her skirt. “I’ll get the money f’you.”

She lifted her leg and slammed her foot against his shoulder, doing double-duty in shoving him back and revealing the true source of her pay-packet. Surprisingly, the stranger didn’t take advantage, just grinned, most of his face still unseen from behind the brim of his fedora.

“Why don’t you do right?” they sang together. “Like some others… do?”

She gently pushed him back and sauntered behind the curtain, while the stranger made a small but theatrical show of reaching for her, falling to his knees, and then further, until he could roll away under the curtain.

“Who’s the new blood?” Eddie asked quietly, and Betty shrugged in the closest she could come to a resigned grimace.

“Maybe you should go backstage and find out. Me, I have cigars to sell. Have a good night, Eddie.”

“Night, Betty.”

 

* * *

 

“Now, Yakko, you might have yourself fooled, but not me,” Jessica was saying as Eddie stepped up to her dressing room door. “Where are they?”

“They?” another voice—one that was becoming increasingly familiar today—asked playfully. “Which they? Because if you’re thinking what I’m thinking then I’m thinking you might need to look into hiding those pretty green eyes behind some glasses because your long-sightedness is really a crime.”

He knocked the first five beats of Shave and a Haircut, but was surprised when there was only a single set of knocks returned. After another moment, Jessica opened the door, and smiled dryly when she saw him. “Mr Valiant. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You know me, I never miss a Tuesday night,” he said, and then looked past her.

Sure enough, the tall toon from the Warner tower was sitting perched on her dressing table, those strange, dog-like ears perked up in interest as he gazed back at him. He’d lost the glittering suit, returning to the oversized white slacks he’d been wearing when he left the tower, though his belt buckle was now a gleaming gold instead of the white it had been.

“Yes, but you rarely come back to see me. Am I in trouble with the law again?” Jessica asked, even as she stood back to invite him inside.

“Not yet. But the company you’re keeping doesn’t say much for that lasting.”

Both toons blinked, before the stranger grinned and waggled his… whatever inksplots called eyebrows. “Hey, come on now, pal – you should always hope for a brighter future. Who’s to say you won’t get through the night a law-abiding citizen? I have faith in you, good sir, and you should too!”

Jessica rolled her eyes indulgently, then gestured to him as Eddie took a seat on the chaise. “Allow me to introduce an old acquaintance, Mr Valiant. This is Yakko Warner. Yakko, this is Eddie Valiant, a private detective.”

“A PI, huh? A gumshoe, a mercenary, a dick—don’t repeat that one to your parents—” He added to an invisible audience, then went back to grinning at Eddie. “A hero to paranoid spouses everywhere, I’m sure.”

“Huh,” Eddie frowned at him. “Thought you were supposed to be one of those Looney Toons. Makin’ jokes a little over your demographic, ain’t ya?”

“Who me? Why, I’m just an innocent child repeating the nasty things I hear,” he said, fluttering his eyelashes and making a halo appear overhead. “I wouldn’t know an entendre if it came up and bit me. Care to prove me wrong?” he added to Jessica, who just flicked her hair over her shoulder and sat down, apparently ignoring him.

“What can I do for you, Mr Valiant?”

“All the months I been comin’ here, I ain’t ever seen you share a stage before,” he said, nodding to Yakko, who was now pawing at the items on the table, fascinated by makeup as only a toon can be. “Thought I’d come find out what the deal was.”

“It wasn’t planned.”

“The best things never are,” Yakko interjected. “Which pretty much explains why I’m so great.”

Eddie looked at him sharply, but he was already enamoured with a jewellery box, and Jessica didn’t seem to have caught the joke. After a moment, Yakko cut a glance toward him, then raised an eyebrow, lip curling into a smirk.

“What? Your private eye see something it shouldn’t? You know, you really shouldn’t advertise that sort of thing. Not around here, anyway – try San Francisco, I hear they’re starting to cater to your crowd,” he drawled. “Or considering the current view, maybe you wanna visit a cathedral on the way. But just so you know, I’m not much of a choir boy, so I won’t be coming.”

Eddie frowned again, recognising the tone, but not following the implication. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say the toon was cracking another dirty joke, but with all he knew about toons, it wasn’t likely.

It wasn’t that he’d never met a dirty toon before – heck, Jessica herself had come from a porno rag, once upon a time. But sleazy cartoons were still toons: they were made for cheaper shots. The Loony Toons specialised in sarcasm, and could crack a double entendre with the best of them, but really subtle or dry humour was mostly lost on them. This one wasn’t even pausing for the laugh, the way Bugs Bunny did – if he actually was cracking jokes, it was almost as if he didn’t want them to be noticed, despite his smirking grin.

Mostly, he just seemed to be spouting nonsense.

“I met Yakko before he was locked up in the tower,” Jessica said calmly, as if Yakko had never spoken. “He was thinking about joining the vaudeville circuit.”

“Roger know about him?” asked Eddie.

“Only as much as any toon,” she replied, and then tilted her head, slanting a glance toward Yakko. “If you’re implying my honey-bun has some reason to be jealous, you should know that Yakko isn’t much of one for comedy. He’s a villain. And a big brother.”

Ignoring that for a moment, he leaned his elbows on his knees to give her a direct look. “Wouldn’t be the first time you played patty-cake with a guy who didn’t make you laugh,” he noted darkly, and Yakko’s grin widened.

“Patty-cake? Jessica, honey, baby-doll!” he cried. “When’d you get hitched? And where’s the bakery? I got an urge for sugar.”

“Careful, Yakko, you’ll rot your teeth,” she said with a sly smile. “Don’t you have siblings to attend to?”

“Not on this topic,” he said, but jumped off the table and gave a theatrical bow. “But you’re right. Time’s a-wasting and we got a whole Hollywood to see! Nice to meet ya, Eddie, you Valiant steed, you.” He paused, his head twitching as if something strange had just occurred to him, before he shrugged and leapt out the window.

“Weird guy,” Eddie noted. “Even for a toon.”

She lifted a hand in a lazy shrug. “That’s what happens when loony goes wrong. But he’s a good boy, if you catch him in the right mood.”

“Boy?” he repeated. “Yeah, right. Like Baby Herman, maybe. Look, Jessica, I’m not gonna tell you how to handle your marriage, but Roger ain’t gonna like it if you keep bringin’ horndogs like that in here.”

She laughed, lifting her shoulder so her hair fell into her eye again. “Yakko Warner’s all mouth, Mr Valiant. He wasn’t even a halfway decent villain for a Loony Toon short – probably wouldn’t know what to do with a girl that wanted to do more than smile at him.”

“Villain? That kid?”

“So they say. Was drawn to pop out at random points and beat his hero over the head with a mallet,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Even I know that’s not the highlight of comedy.”

No, but Eddie could name a few cartoons that would’ve been better for it.

“Mostly he’s a big brother to his siblings, and the three of them together are a pest,” she said. “Roger wouldn’t have anything to worry about even if I was that type of girl.”

 

* * *

 

He got the call just as he was planning to leave the club, flagged down by the octopus behind the bar to speak to an exhausted Warner Brothers executive. Cleaning was done, and it was time for him to track down the kids.

‘The kids’ – that was how everyone at the studio referred to them. It was weird, he thought as he pulled on his coat and ducked past the gorilla. They were some of the oldest toons out there, capable of dragging full flesh and blood humans into a dance number, clearly knew what happened in a bedroom, but still, they were called ‘kids’.

“Hey there, Horseman,” a voice called as he stepped into the street. “What’s your hurry?”

He turned, and blinked at the kid lounged against the wall under Jessica’s window. Yakko Warner apparently hadn’t gone far.

“Horseman?” he questioned as he headed over.

“Yeah, it uhhhh… feels like it should be funny,” he said, and pushed off the wall. “Something to do with a Valiant Steed named Mr Ed.”

“If it’s a joke, I don’t get it.”

“Me neither. My timing’s probably off. So, let me guess, Horseman – you’re the one the studio hired to collect me and my sibs, huh?” he asked. “I can see why they picked you. Not even two steps out the door and you found me! One outta three’s not bad!”

“Imagine my delight,” he deadpanned. “Any idea where the other two are?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

There was a long pause, before Eddie remembered what he was dealing with. “You wanna tell – wait, let me say that right. Take me to them.”

“Ooh, you’re a _smart_ one!” Yakko said, his tone an even split between sarcasm and pleasure. “I knew I stuck around here for a reason. You drive?”

“No car.”

“That’s okay, it’s more fun to walk anyways,” he said, and started off down the street, hands in his pockets.

Eddie hesitated, suspicious but reluctant to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or maybe he just didn’t want to let the kid out of his sight. He hurried to catch up. “You don’t mind going back?”

“Nah. Comedy’s all about the timing,” he said with a smile. “And like I said, ours is off right now. Might as well hang around the tower until we’re in sync. It’ll make for a great story one day!”

“What d’you mean?”

“They locked us in the tower, whenever we got caught, but we broke loose and then vamoosed and now you know the plot!” he sang, spinning around on one leg without ever breaking stride. “It’s gonna be great! A real underdog story! Chaos and mischief and loads of whacky comedy!”

“Thought you weren’t a comedy toon.”

“Who told you that? I kind of pre-date war bonds, in case y’didn’t notice,” he said dryly. “And I ain’t touchin’ Disney’s follies. You ever met those princesses? Or that _mouse_? Yee-uck!”

Eddie smiled despite himself. He’d left most of his anti-toon days behind him, but even he had to admit he was struggling to tolerate the ones from Disney’s features. He’d take slapstick over sweetness any day of the week. “How do you know about all that?”

“Same way you do: I read the dailies,” he said, and pulled his hands out of his pockets to stretch them high overhead before folding them behind his head. “But uhhhh… personally, I prefer the Daily Mail over the trades. That’s where the _real_ comedy is.”

“In the trade paper?”

“In the Daily Mail!” he said brightly, looking pleased with the set-up. “It’s got so many people tellin’ everyone what to think, like they know anything themselves. Stalin’s gonna be a real riot, you just watch.”

Eddie tilted his head as he looked down at the kid. Very few toons read the newspaper, and even less read about human news. They were too removed from it – they couldn’t understand death and pain like humans did, let alone things like economics, unless it was for a quick joke. Even the propaganda they did was ultimately for fun, not a purpose.

But while he didn’t doubt this toon would be able to make a joke of it (even if no one got it), he had a feeling he was reading for more reasons than the laugh he wouldn’t get.

“I thought the tower stayed locked tight,” Eddie said finally. “How do you get the papers?”

“Same way we get food, and water, and soda that makes me want to tear my fur out. You have any idea what it’s like, dealing with a nine and eleven year old on a sugar high? One of these days I’m gonna find the man who invented Coca-Cola and shove his recipe…” he trailed off, furious for all of two seconds before grinning again. “Ah, but look who I’m talkin’ to! You ain’t even married yet, and I’d bet my last dime that you wouldn’t leave a lady in the lurch.”

“How do you know I’m not married?” he asked, and the toon snorted.

“You’re kidding. Eddie Valiant, hero of ToonTown, married and the toons didn’t throw a parade so loud I could hear it in my tower? Yeah, right,” he said, unfolding one arm to waggle a rubber finger in Eddie’s face. “You know, after that Dip fiasco, you were supposed to get down on bended knee. Toons these days love a happy ending, and the lack of yours is breaking every Disney heart in town!”

He raised an eyebrow. “You heard about that, huh?”

“Even Wakko knows that one. It was on the _radio_.” He said it with the same tolerant smile Eddie saw on some old folks’ expressions – like he couldn’t see the appeal, but knew technology was coming and he couldn’t put it on hold. Like a lot of things, it seemed strange from a toon (especially one created so long _after_ the radio), but he didn’t make a comment and neither did Eddie. “But hey, if you do decide to get married, do me a favour and schedule it nine years from now. I wanna come!”

“Nine years?”

“We have regular termite sprays every eleven years,” he explained. “The cleaning’s less regular, so I can’t guarantee so much as an RSVP. Unless you don’t mind speaking up for us, Mr Valiant. After all, you can’t expect three innocent children like me and my siblings to be capable of cleaning their own rooms! Though everyone else does. I tell ya, these studio heads! They’re slave drivers! Torturers! School marms! It’s cruel! It’s… sadly usual, and if that ain’t a crime against humanity, I don’t know what is.”

“Got a flair for the dramatic, don’t ya?” Eddie deadpanned, and the toon blinked innocent eyelashes.

“Moi? Surely not. I’ve got a whole lighthouse for the dramatic!” he announced, yanking one out of his pocket before apparently realising how heavy it was and throwing it away. Eddie watched it disappear in a small puff of smoke before looking down to meet Yakko’s smug gaze again. “Bet you ain’t seen Daffy pull out something like that in casual conversation.”

“You’ve got some toon skills, I have to admit,” Eddie acknowledged.

“And the wit and the charm to match,” he said, then shrugged and looked forward again. “Buuuuut it’s not my time, so, we wait.”

He considered him for a few moments. He wasn’t strictly sure why, but he’d found himself liking the weird little toon, even if he did run his mouth even more than Roger on a high. “Any idea when your time is?”

Yakko twitched a little, then sighed. “Workin’ for the toon stars like you did, I’m guessin’ you know your fair share of toon theory, right?”

“Not really,” he admitted. “I know you can’t mess too much with reality unless it’s funny, and a few ways to off a toon.”

“Now there’s a charming segue,” Yakko said with a grin. “I ask what you know about toons, you tell me you know how to kill us. Be still my beating heart, I know what that gal sees in you now!”

“Sorry, kid, you’re not my type,” he joked, and the toon barked out a laugh.

“Hey, look out, the man can hit the pitch! Okay,” he said, and then calmed slightly, taking on a more purposefully patient air. “So you know we can only do something when it’s funny. That’s one way to put it, sure, but I think I’d more say that a toon has to match his atmosphere. If things are serious, you have to be serious. And serious means no lighthouses. No mallets. No jokes.”

“I dunno about that,” he said slowly. “A lotta toons did a lot of weird stuff during the war.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. We did too, and not just at that boring summit,” Yakko perked up a little for a second, before relaxing back into his explanation. “Not to lighten what happened any, but it’s not like the whole world was always sad and angry. And other people just needed to smile. And that’s what all those toons you’re thinking of did – they played to the people who wanted a break from all the serious. Me and my siblings… ehhh… we weren’t so much on the feel good patriotic yippie-hippie-ki-yay. Our stuff mostly got shown where our style would get laughs – the front lines.”

He turned his face forward again, arms unfolding so he could slip his hands into his pockets instead. It was strange seeing such a serious expression on an inksplot’s face. Usually when they had the darker emotions, they overcompensated, and still ended up looking funny. Yakko just seemed thoughtful.

“Here’s one you might have heard: anger turned inwards is depression. I have a feeling I’m making an out of time reference when I say anger turned sideways is a kind of humour,” he said, and smiled slightly. “Our humour, to be specific. Anyone told you yet how we came to be?”

“Jessica said something about an animator that…” He trailed off. Toons had complicated relationships with their character designers – some of them were seen as parents, while others were loathed. Either way, you didn’t go around insulting those in animation lightly.

“Went crazy? Whacko? Insane? Got a few screws loose? Missed a couple of connections in the cerebral cortex?” Yakko suggested. “That’s him! Overworked, underpaid, and trying to make the blandest biscuit in the barrel look like strawberry shortcake. Don’t get me wrong, I love Buddy, but his cartoons couldn’t have been more boring if he’d been _trying_. Trying to fix that train wreck would’ve sent anyone over the edge. And that’s what we were made out of: anger, frustration, fear, and just a lee-tle hint of crazy. Basically, that point where you’re laughing only because screaming and crying ain’t exactly winning you any medals.”

“Are you telling me that you think one day the whole of America’s gonna feel like that?” Eddie asked doubtfully. “That’s when you’ll have an audience?”

“Nah. I’m just saying that’s where we come from – that’s when we make people laugh the most,” he said, waving it off. “Or Wakko and Dot, anyway. I’m a little different. But anyways, that’s not the point. We got sidetracked.”

“Right,” he said, and frowned as he tried to think back to where they’d come from. “Toons need to match their atmosphere.”

“Yeah. And what you’ll never hear most of us tell you is that we can kind of sense it. I know that right now, the world isn’t ready for real Warner charm, and that’s why I never try to lift the lid of the water tower and build a rocket. All I’d get is soot all over my living room,” he said irritably, before offering another smile. “One day, the world’s gonna be in the right frame of mind for what we call fun. That nice little in-between stage where you can distract a kid with slapstick while tellin’ their parents what Carey Grant’s been doin’ in the parking lot.”

Eddie snorted. He couldn’t see any parent wanting to hear that kind of stuff from a toon.

“And when that’s goin’ on, you’ll probably be able to teach a kid all the history of the United States while giving them a good time. And that’s where I come in,” Yakko continued with a dreamy smile. “Heck, if the day comes that Dot can make a dirty joke while Wakko swallows sixteen pizza pies, I’d be able to teach a kid all the bones in the human body so well they’re still singin’ it in college!”

“Singing?” he repeated, and Yakko smirked at him.

“Every good teacher’s got their tricks. Mine is that I come with a soundtrack.”

“Huh.” Eddie eyed him thoughtfully for a few moments. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard a teacher use so many pick-up lines as you were shootin’ at Jessica Rabbit earlier.”

“Every boy should have a hobby,” he said cheerfully. “I like me some wordplay. I’d tell you I’d also like foreplay, but I like you, Horseman, so I might skip that joke. Problem is, I don’t know if you noticed, but most cartoons wouldn’t know a double entendre if you handed them one on a platter, let alone how to work historical humour into a biology class, so I’ve gotta take the hard line to get so much as a ba-dum tish. But I dunno if I’ll ever get some quality banter goin’, toons bein’ what we are, so I’ll have my fun with an hourglass and a nice pair of sticks, and count myself lucky.”

“A line I can understand,” he admitted. “Though I got a girl with a good head on her shoulders, so I don’t gotta fill in time anymore.”

“Must be nice.”

Eddie paused, but he hadn’t heard any bitterness in the kid’s tone – just a slight wistfulness. “So, the way everyone was talkin’, I expected you to be running crazy with the other two.”

“Egh, we did that a couple years back,” he said vaguely. “Bouncing on Churchill. Dot wanted to check out Sunset Boulevard’s fashion parade and Wakko’s been goin’ crazy for the speakeasies. I keep tellin’ him jazz is going to go out of style soon, but what can you do? I figured we could use a few hours away from each other.”

“Siblings, huh?”

Yakko barely paused to grin.

**Author's Note:**

> The 48 are a collection of unfinished fics saved on my hard drive, posted here for people's interest, and in case anyone wants to adopt them. I feel like this one was about half done, but I cannot for the life of me figure out where I was going. Last touched in October 2014.
> 
> And, for the record, Yakko's half of the duet is the original version of the song, slightly altered to fit a duet. Guys are supposed to sing it a bit faster than Jessica ever did, but I'm sure Yakko would make it work.


End file.
